The Code for Love and Heartbreak - Jillian Cantor Page 0,88
it’s over. We’ll never be in coding club again. There are no years left, no more projects to work on together. “Yeah,” I say. It all hits me hard, and I feel even more like I’m about to cry. I bite my lip. “But I guess we don’t have to talk about nationals at all. You and Hannah can go out tonight.”
“I told you,” George says, an edge to his voice like he’s annoyed with me. “Hannah and I don’t have plans tonight.”
“Well, you should make some plans,” I say as I finally pull into his driveway. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? At least our app wasn’t a total loss.”
“Emma.” He says my name again, softer this time. I can feel his eyes on me but I don’t turn, just look straight ahead and hope he’ll get out of the car quickly before I can’t hold back my tears any longer. “Why do you have to be so...?”
“What?” I finally do turn, and instead of the anger in his eyes that I’m expecting, I see something else. There’s an intensity in the way he’s looking at me that makes it hard to breathe. And I can’t even remember what I was about to say or how I was just feeling. We stare at each other for a few minutes, until finally I say, “You’re right. Coding club is over now. Forever. What else could we possibly have to talk about?” It’s the wrong thing to say, and I know that as soon as the words fall out of my mouth.
Because George doesn’t say another word. He gets out of the car and slams the door too hard behind him.
I watch him walk toward his front door. My stomach aches, and I think about getting out of the car, going after him. But I’m not sure what I would say next. And then he’s inside his house, and what else is there for me to do but go home?
* * *
I’m shocked to see Dad’s car in the garage when I get to my house. It’s only a little before six, and he never comes home this early. I’m worried that it’s his heart again, and I run into the house.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him when I find him sitting at the kitchen table. “Is your heart okay?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong, Em.” I notice he’s dressed in his weekend attire, jeans and a plaid shirt, and he’s drinking a cup of herbal tea. He looks perfectly normal, relaxed even.
“But you’re home,” I blurt out, confused.
He laughs. “I came home early because I thought I could take you to dinner to celebrate your competition. We can bring the rest of your coding friends if you want, too? Anywhere you want,” Dad says. “My treat.”
I drop my backpack on the floor, sit down next to him and lay my head down on the cool wood of the kitchen table. I’m so relieved that Dad’s heart is fine, but my own heart feels like it’s breaking in my chest. And though I know that is physically impossible, scientifically inaccurate, I feel an overwhelming crushing heaviness. It’s hard to breathe. The tears I held back in the car with George are running down my face. “We didn’t win,” I say, pressing my lips against the cool wood, but I don’t think that’s why I’m crying. What George said in the car hits me again: it’s all over, for good. The entire club hates me. “And I have no friends,” I say to Dad. My voice breaks on the word friends.
“Oh, honey.” Dad reaches his hand over and rubs my back, the way he used to do when I was little. He hasn’t done it in so long that I suddenly remember what it was like to be six years old again, to have him and Izzy here, hovering and protecting me and helping me. And look what I’ve done, all on my own this year. I’ve ruined everything. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dad asks gently. “Did you guys mess up your presentation?”
I bite my lip, because there is so much to say. I don’t know how to be social. I don’t know how to have friends. Izzy was right. I was crazy to tell people who to date, and Jane and George were right, too. People care more about recycling. “We didn’t mess up,” I finally say. “We came in second. We just weren’t good enough. My idea just